


Get Home Safe

by catalinawinemixer



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catalinawinemixer/pseuds/catalinawinemixer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She only resents him half as much as she wants him. A sort-of character study, written before the finale aired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Home Safe

She can safely say that she doesn’t resent anything like she resents other people trying to educate her about her own illness.  
  
She knows the risks of not having her pills, knows how to curl into herself and choke on her breath until the ground is beneath her again. She had been the one to tell Don to leave her alone, that nothing but the sky and the cold concrete beneath her would get her through an attack.  
  
But he had to come out. Sanctimonious Jim, with his soft fingers and steady voice and quiet lectures. She wants to wipe the look of concern off of his face and force him back inside.  
  
She doesn’t, though. She listens. Her inner feminist berates her for the moment of weakness, because she absolutely can take care of herself. She focuses on his strong hands and resists the urge to arch, to see where those fingers can go.  
  
She only resents him half as much as she wants him.  
  
-  
  
She moves out of the apartment she shares with Lisa. She can afford a studio by herself now, she thinks, and it will be nice to have her own space.  
  
She convinces herself that there are no alternative reasons, and carelessly lets their friendship grow apart.  
  
-  
  
She loves Don. She’s quite sure of it. It’s not love, what she feels for Jim, she insists to herself. Jim makes her want to scream and break things and throw him up against a wall and kiss him until he bucks against her and-  
  
stop.  
  
Will picks up her story and Jim smiles at her, wide and proud.  
  
She doesn’t bother to tell Don, but that night when she pushes him down on the bed and takes him inside her, she closes her eyes and sees Jim underneath her instead. She comes harder than she has in months, and she hates herself for it. Just a little.  
  
She doesn’t sleep, afraid that his name will drift from her lips and someone else will know.  
  
-  
  
Don is a good man. She knows this. She knows, logically, that actively lusting after her boss is not the way to keep an honest relationship.  
  
They break up for the last time, she thinks. But it might be the last time until tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Don never leaves her peripheral vision, and she doesn’t bother wondering why.  
  
She doesn’t wonder about the looks Jim has been giving her, either.  
  
She slips up on a fact. Nothing major, just the wrong last name or the wrong employee or something, she doesn’t care, Mac catches it before it gets to Will and Maggie is too tired and strung out and she wants to be yelled at, wants to take the blame for something she’s done already.  
  
But Jim takes the blame. Again. Mac just gives him that piercing gaze, the one Maggie knows was born out of them being embedded together and knowing everything about each other. Mac looks at her with soft eyes, then leaves the room.  
  
Mac, as usual, knows everything, and it makes Maggie want to scream,  
  
Maggie grabs Jim on the forearm. “Outside,” she commands tersely.  
  
He nods, like he expected it, and follows.  
  
She explodes out onto the balcony and whirls on him, and he’s grinning at her, the bastard, and she itches to slap him, itches to make him beg-  
  
“I’m not going to apologize for sticking up for you.”  
  
She can’t catch her breath. “I don’t need you to fucking rescue me.”  
  
He shrugs. She snaps.  
  
She advances on him, ranting about his stupid male savior attitude and his stupid hair and god did he ever leave the office, no wonder he is so uptight and awful and just-  
  
“What, Maggie? I’m what?”  
  
But she’s frozen, because somehow she’s pinned him up against the brick wall and his chest is heaving, and his hands are gripping her waist and she’s hyperaware of his fingers finally on her body, and he lightly touches their noses together and god, she wants, she wants-  
  
“Maggie, please.”  
  
And he’s sliding a hand up her back to her hair and she knows he’s going to kiss her and she doesn’t think she’s ever been more terrified.  
  
So she pulls back. “We have to get inside. The show is starting soon.”  
  
He’s crestfallen, and she knows it. She can’t quite bring herself to care. But there is something dark in his eyes, something she’s scarcely allowed herself to see there before. He nods at her, turns on his heel, and marches back inside.  
  
She can’t shake the feeling that it’s just the beginning.  
  
-  
  
Her and Neal are on their third round of SoCo and lime shots when he shows up, looking exhausted.  
  
She slides a lime slice into her mouth and sucks on it, pinning him with her gaze. She’s not going to run away again.  
  
He slides onto the stool next to her, but ignores her in favor of babbling at Neal at some statistic or another about the consumption of alcohol in excess. She briefly considers ordering a blow job shot, but it’s a move she hasn’t pulled since college.  
  
She orders a Jack and diet instead, is halfway through it before it hits the table.  
  
“Maggie, how much have you had?”  
  
“Not much, Mr. Harper, sir.” She grins at him.  
  
Neal stands up and leaves without saying anything else.  
  
She leans in. “I ran. I’m sorry I ran.”  
  
“Technically, I ran.”  
  
“Yeah, but, I stopped things.”  
  
He’s staring at her mouth. “How drunk are you, again?”  
  
“Why? Are you thinking about taking advantage of me?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
And it’s so wrong, how much she wants him, she thinks. That’s what has been so off kilter about this whole thing. She’s never met a man she actually wanted to throw her around before, had always thought of not being in control of sex as some kind of weakness, but she wants him to just take her and do whatever he feels like.  
  
She brushes her mouth lightly against his, and his eyes slide shut.  
  
“You’re very drunk.”  
  
She smiles. “You’d better make sure I get home, then.”  
  
His hand slides into hers and she wonders why he’s not fighting this, but then she stumbles and he catches her.  
  
“Yup. Better make sure you get home safe.”  
  
There’s a resigned tone in his voice that reassures her that he has no plans to take advantage of her.  
  
She won’t stand for it.  
  
-  
  
They get inside her apartment. She’s intensely grateful for the studio, because kicking Lisa out would have been too much to handle.  
  
He runs his hand through his hair. “You’re good? Do you need anything before I go?”  
  
“I definitely need something.”  
  
He swallows, hard, and shakes himself. “Good night, very drunk Maggie.”  
  
He tries to step around her, but she grabs him by the lapels and pulls him to her, kissing him deeply. He groans into her mouth and kisses her back, pushing her against the wall.  
  
She’s drowning in them. She doesn’t think she’s ever been kissed like this, and she needs him so much closer. He pulls away.  
  
“You’re drunk,” he says, “you are so drunk, and this is so wrong, I can’t-”  
  
She wraps her thigh around his and presses their hips together and he hisses. She shudders at the sound and presses her face to his neck. “Jim, please.”  
  
He groan and fumbles for her wrists, pinning them against the wall. “Maggie.”  
  
“Fuck me.”  
  
He shakes, he literally shakes and she is going to die, she knows it.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Jim, we’ve wanted each other for months-”  
  
He presses his mouth to her ear. “No. I won’t. When I fuck you, you will not be drunk. You will be fully present. Because I’m going to take my time, and I want you to feel every single thing I do to you.”  
  
She can’t bring herself to do anything but recline against the wall, staring at him.  
  
She never let herself believe that he wanted her quite as much as she wanted him.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
He leaves. He leaves, and she feels so empty that she wants to sob.  
  
-  
  
In the morning, her head is pounding out a rhythm. She stumbles from the couch to her shower, haphazardly pulling off her clothes until she is soothed by the tattoo of the hot water against her skin.  
  
Her mind remains surprisingly, blissfully blank.  
  
She has just wrapped herself in her favorite fluffy robe when her phone rings.  
  
Jim.  
  
“I’m outside. Buzz me up?”  
  
She murmurs an affirmative, and waits at the door until he’s there, knocking, and she throws it open.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“Hi.”  
  
He walks in. “How are you?”  
  
“Sober.”  
  
“How is your head?”  
  
“Fine. I don’t get bad hangovers.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
There’s a small silence. It’s not awkward, exactly, but charged. She wonders why he decided to come, wonders if he’s made a decision about her.  
  
She decides to make it for both of them.  
  
“Jim?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I’m completely sober. I’m in my own mind. And you’re in my apartment, and we have nothing to do until tomorrow.”  
  
He smiles at her, shyly.  
  
She drops the robe, and grins.


End file.
